Happier Endings
by K9Lasko
Summary: DiNozzo's holiday plans get dashed, and for once it's not because of his job. Meanwhile, Abby and the team plan Christmas cheer for someone special. And what's Gibbs been working on down in that basement of his? (Written for NFA Secret Santa 2015.) COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**First Published:** December 25, 2015 on the NFA Community Forum.

* * *

A/N: Written for purple-muse as part of the **2015 Secret Santa Exchange on NFA**. She requested a Tony-centric casefile/teamfic.

 **Rating:** FR15/T  
 **Category:** Gen  
 **Genre:** Casefile, action/drama/humor/a-bit-of-everything, teamfic  
 **Main Character(s):** Tony DiNozzo and Team Gibbs  
 **Pairings:** Canon pairings only.

* * *

Three voices mingled between the trees. The forest was still. Cold. Black.

"You're late. I don't like to wait. It's fucking freezing out here, and I didn't put my thermal underwear on this morning." Gruff. Impatient.

"It's my fault." Nervous. Apologetic. "Forgot where this spot was. Been a while."

"Yeah, you were always good at being forgetful, weren't you, dipshit."

A flashlight shined from the darkness, blinding the two faces it struck.

"We have the money." The third voice, and one of the blinded faces. This one confident, brave.

"All of it?"

"All of it. So that means we're good, right? No more of this? You'll leave him alone?"

There was a tossed exchange of a duffle bag and then a lot of rustling. "Very merry Christmas to me. But as for you…"

Still blinded by the flashlight, they didn't even see it coming.

Three gunshots. Then a heavy thud. Strangled gurgle. A yell of surprise and the pounding of galloping feet.

"Yeah, you better run. Better keep your mouth shut, too!"

* * *

 **Happier Endings**

* * *

 **CHAPTER ONE.**

His cell phone dinged while he slowly typed yet another status report in between his multiple games of minesweeper. He paused to read the text from " _Keates, Z_." It was just above the string of Emojis between himself and " _McGee, T_." and the one-worded, rare replies from the contact simply labeled " _Gibbs_."

 _ **I miss you.**_

Tony replied right away, tapping at the screen. _ **I miss you, too. Quantum Leap marathon tonight. Skype?**_ He hit send, and then stared expectantly at the phone in his hand. When a minute or two passed, he tapped as quickly as he could: **_Gibbs approved my vacay request. Paid the deposit on the cabin. You'll be back by 12/24 at least, right?_**

He sent it, and again he waited.

And waited.

There was talking and laughter going on across the bullpen, but none of it caught his attention, until: "You wanna come with, Tony?"

His head snapped up, and he saw Tim waiting for his reply. "Sorry, I missed that?"

Tim gave him a funny look. It wasn't often that Tony kept himself on the outside of a good conversation, or any conversation, really. "I said," he spoke slowly, "'A bunch of us are heading out for a drink. Do you wanna come with us.'"

"Oh." Tony looked around at his desk. His "done" pile rose higher than the "to do" pile, but that wasn't saying much. The "to do" pile was still a couple inches thick. He poked at his phone again. No reply. (He wasn't obsessing. He wasn't obsessing at all…) "Where are you going?"

"That piano bar I was talking about earlier," Ellie said with a beaming smile. She wore a bright red and white knit sweater, and she had her blond hair tied back in a green bow. Even Tim had gotten into the holiday spirit, with his red collared shirt.

Ellie went on, "Half-off spiked eggnog until 8PM. Jake went the other week and said it's really classy. I think you'd like it."

"Plus, my friend is singing with a jazz band there," Abby chimed in as she straightened the Santa hat on her head. "It's going to be totally awesome, Tony. You've gotta come."

Tony rolled his shoulders. "Naw, you all go on without me. I think I'll just stay late and get through the back-log… Taking a few days off, you know. Soon."

"C'mon," Tim said. "Since when am I the one prodding you to go out and do something?"

"Since never," Tony grinned. The black screen of his phone kept mocking him.

"Aww, Tony baby," Abby whined. "Come out with us, _pleeease_! We haven't done a group outing in forever." When she saw Gibbs jogging down the stairs from Director Vance's office, her eyes brightened. "Gibbs! Gibbs! _Gibbs_! Tell Tony here to come out with us."

Tony gave Abby a disgruntled "oh no, you _didn't_ " look.

Gibbs rounded his desk and began to put on his coat. "DiNozzo, go out with Abby."

"Are you going, too?" Tony asked.

"I'm going, yeah, but not to your little get together."

"Where are you going?" Tony pressed. "Is there a case or something? Do you need me?"

Gibbs gave him a look layered in annoyance. Then he grabbed his cell phone and keys, before heading for the elevator. "Got a project to finish up. Go home everybody."

"You heard the man," Abby said. "Get your coat, Scrooge." She reached for Tony's arm and attempted to yank him up out of his chair. "Your first drink is on me."

Tony reluctantly complied and soon found his face full of his own coat as Abby tossed it at him.

"What about Delilah?" he asked McGee.

"She's meeting us there," McGee said.

As Tony buttoned up his coat, Abby leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. She then handed him his phone. "I love you, you know that?"

"I know." He checked his phone again. No reply. But then it had only been five minutes, if that. He figured there wasn't any harm in enjoying a nice evening out on the town with a few of his closest friends.

* * *

The piano bar was called Nick's, and it had a cozy feel to it with a festive flair. It was classy, like Ellie said, but in an accessible, familiar way. Their party of five picked a corner booth near the back, and Abby and Tim volunteered to bring over the first round, plus a cheese and cracker plate.

Needing something a bit stronger, Tony opted for a brandy manhattan, and as he sat there drinking and letting the warmth of alcohol and friendly company wash over him, he found himself smiling more and more.

Until he got the text message he'd been waiting so loyally for.

 _ **About that. Something came up. Call you later, okay?**_

"So what are you doing for Christmas?" someone was asking.

 _What did that mean? Was he obsessing? He was totally obsessing. This was obsessing. Oh god... here it comes..._

"Tony?" Delilah prompted.

Caught off guard again, he looked up to find them all smiling his way. All four of them. Just a bunch of smiley, happy people out for a holiday drink. Just as he'd done before at the office, he said, "Sorry, I missed that?"

"What are you doing for Christmas?" Delilah repeated.

"Oh, you know," he shrugged. "It's just me and Zoe." He smiled woodenly.

"Oh come on," Abby said. "You told me about your _plans_."

"He won't shut up about them," Tim added. "When's she getting back in?"

"Any day now." Tony ordered another brandy manhattan, and the night spun on from there, and by the time the jazz band started to pack up to head home, he could say he was pleasantly intoxicated.

* * *

The next morning had DiNozzo dragging his feet into work. He sat slowly and batted at his wet hair a bit, knowing it was stubbornly lying in all the wrong directions. Then he rubbed at his eyes with his index finger and thumb before ever so slowly and painfully typing in his computer's password.

Bishop already sat at her desk, bright eyed and bushy-tailed. She watched him with distant, curious amusement. Apparently, the proclamations she once made of never getting drunk were true. Last night she'd nursed a single glass of eggnog until the bitter end.

Perhaps that amount of discipline could be admired.

He chuckled as he watched his emails load.

"What's so funny?" Ellie asked.

"I forgot my tie." Tony looked down at his shirt. No tie. "It's okay. Casual Tuesday."

"Well, you're still wearing a nice suit. And at least you remembered to put pants on."

"Hah hah," he deadpanned, "you should start a comedy club, Bishop."

They went quiet for a few minutes as they settled separately into mindless office tasks.

But then Tony's phone dinged. The text message said: _**I know you're pissed.**_ It had to be awfully early out where Zoe was, but this time, he didn't reply, because yeah — he was a little pissed (and a lot dehydrated, judging by the headache.) And he felt like she was baiting him into an argument. He was no dummy; he knew a trap when he saw one.

"Alright, Bish," Tony said as he pushed his desk chair far enough back to get a better look at her over his computer. "I'm gonna come right out and ask."

Ellie looked up warily, glancing to the right for McGee, and to the left for Gibbs. No luck. They still weren't in. She and Tony were alone. Just them and the garish Christmas tree Abby had set next to Gibbs' cubicle wall. She breathed in deeply and said, "Okay, and what's that?"

"I need to ask you, uh—" He bit the bullet. "For some relationship advice."

Ellie blinked at Tony's sudden bashfulness. She frowned. "I really don't know if I'm qualified…"

"You're a woman, and Zoe's a woman. So you're more than qualified."

"Maybe you should just ask McGee, or—"

"No, I'm asking you," Tony almost snapped. "And contrary to many of his life choices, McGee is not a woman."

"Oh-kay…" She seemed doubtful. "But just so you know, we're people, Tony, not some alien race. Besides, I've met Zoe, and we're as alike as sea urchins and flying squirrels."

"That's a… unique comparison."

"Do you need another one to get my point? I've got dozens."

Tony huffed, before begging, "Can you just help me out here, Ellie? Please?" He gave her an ingratiating and innocent smile.

She rolled her eyes. "Okay. Go."

He took a breath. "It's _Zoe_. As you know, she's been doing a lot of work with the ATF field office in Seattle. Flying back and forth and such."

"Okay," she nodded, patiently.

"And she just informed me they offered her a job. A _super awesome, once-in-a-lifetime, if-you-don't-take-it-you're-a-damned-fool_ job." Tony paused to breathe. "I'm happy for her. I'm deliriously happy for her. This is what she's been wanting ever since she got a badge."

Ellie's eyebrows knit together in concern. "Is she taking it?"

"I don't know." Before she could spout off any generic platitudes, Tony went on, "So I need an objective opinion. About whether or not I'm overreacting." Then he repeated, "I don't know."

"Well technically," Ellie said, "my opinion wouldn't be objective — because you're my coworker and a friend, too — so at best it would be subjective, and—"

"Okay, _can you be a little less like McGee right now_? Otherwise I woulda just gone to him with this." Tony looked around to double-check that they were still alone. They were.

Still just him and Bishop and that damn happy Christmas tree. Right now, Tony wanted to take it and bash it several times against a desk while yelling, " _Who's gonna have a fucking happy Christmas now, assholes?_ " But he restrained himself. Being mandated to complete a psychological eval because he beat up a happy little Christmas tree wasn't his idea of a good career move.

"So what else happened?" Ellie prompted.

Tony seemed relieved that she asked. "She reneged on our Christmas plans," he said, before quickly adding, "I know it sounds stupid, but I really planned this whole thing out. _We've_ been planning it out, and now suddenly she tells me she can't make it? One day before? And I've been texting and texting — and calling, too — trying to figure out what she's doing, what we're doing." He stopped. "Oh my god, when did I become the woman in this relationship?"

"I'd be upset, too," Ellie offered.

"But you're a woman."

"Well yeah! You wanted to ask me for my opinion!"

"She accused me of being too needy. I'm not needy at all!"

Ellie only nodded, as if she knew that accusation was categorically untrue (even though she kind of doubted that.) Tony might do a great job broadcasting that he was an island unto himself, but deep down, he was pure velcro. And Ellie could understand. Tony seemed like a guy ready to settle down, or at least prepare for it. If he needed a bit more attention and belly-scratching than the typical man, so what? Admittedly, Jake wasn't like that at all... and she preferred his laid-back temperament.

She could imagine that a little bit of Tony's personality went a _long_ way.

"She says there's a lot of work to be done out in Seattle," Tony rambled, "and there's this case she's taking point on. And I understand… I get it… it's work, and work's important. I love work! I'm a workaholic! But aren't I supposed to be important, too?" He threw his hands up. "See? I am the woman. And I've become that guy I've told McGee never to be…"

"Maybe you should stop with the whole "woman" versus "man" thing. Obviously, you're the sensitive one, and Zoe's the more independent one."

"I'm not sensitive! I only wanted us to do this Christmas thing together. Is that too much to ask? I thought it would be nice."

"I didn't mean it as a bad thing."

"DiNozzo's aren't sensitive."

Again, Ellie rolled her eyes. "Okay."

"I don't want to screw up a good relationship," Tony said. "I've done enough of that. But if she takes that job in Seattle… I don't know."

"I'm sorry, Tony."

"I'm sick of everybody flaking out on me." Tony put his face in his hands. "You know…" he mumbled through his fingers. "Times like these, I wonder if I should just give it all up and become a monk."

"Pretty sure they'd throw you out after a day," McGee chimed in having recently arrived. He failed to clue in on the somber mood. "And I never flake out on you." He sat down without further comment and woke up his computer.

"Except for that one time you stood me up at that bar," Tony said.

"When was that?" Tim looked honestly confused.

Ellie muttered, "He's not sensitive at all…"

"I'm not!"

Not wanting to tangle in that mess so early in the morning, McGee pulled a red and green sprinkle donut from a paper sack and began meticulously picking the sprinkles off, pretty much one by one.

Tony stared across the bullpen at it. Finally, he asked, "Aren't you gonna share?"

Begrudgingly, and without a word, Tim split the sugary confection in half, setting aside Tony's share on a spare napkin. "Happy?"

"Happier," Tony replied.

Ellie watched the two of them with a fond little grin.

"Grab your gear!" Gibbs suddenly appeared from around the corner. He smacked Tony on the head as he did. "Look alive, DiNozzo. You're not on vacation yet. Dead petty officer in Rock Creek Park."


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO.**

It started snowing as soon as they parked, and now it was a race against time and temperature and accumulation. The white stuff already dusted the area, including the agents themselves.

The four of them had to hike in with all of the gear, as the victim had been found a good distance away from any access roads. By the time they met up with the two local LEOs left to secure the scene, the snow fell heavier and heavier, and Tony was all but frozen solid. Ellie didn't look much better, but at least she had boasted earlier about the woolen socks, long underwear and thermal under-shirt Jake had given her last Christmas.

Tony could only dream about thermal undershirts and woolen socks right now.

Gibbs, apparently unmoved by the cold, went to speak with the LEOs, leaving Tony alone with McGee and Ellie.

"Okay, Ells-Bells," Tony said.

Ellie raised a brow at the impromptu nickname.

He only smiled in return. "You're marking and numbering. And you, McGee, are taking pictures."

They all got to work, and soon Ellie was off numbering the various pieces of evidence that might be of interest during the investigation. Afterwards, Tony would sketch the layout of the entire scene, while McGee followed up with the photography. Only then would Ellie bag and tag, and typically, by that point, Ducky and Palmer would be tucking the body into a white bag and carting it back to the Medical Examiner's truck, and then off for autopsy.

The Major Crimes Response Team was a well-oiled machine. Even with Ziva gone and Ellie in her place, everything went without a hitch. Usually. And if there was a hitch, Gibbs was there to sort it out, and if Gibbs wasn't there, then Tony was always in his stead.

"So how are you, Tim?" Tony suddenly asked while he sketched. _One 9mm Luger round here, one dead body over there. Just a merry fucking Christmas for everybody today._ A few snowflakes stuck to Tony's lashes, and he rubbed them away in irritation.

Tim lowered the camera from his face and gave Tony a look, saying, "Uh, I'm good. Things are good."

"That's good," Tony said as he moved a bit to the right and sketched some more. "Everything good with Delilah?"

"You saw her last night."

"I meant your relationship. The Tim and the Delilah. The McLilah."

"Oh, it's good," answered Tim automatically and with a nauseatingly happy grin. He raised the camera, aimed, and _click click click_. The blood spatter really popped in that one, he thought… "Everything's great. Her mom is flying in from Wisconsin on Christmas Eve. We're excited. We don't have a tree yet, so Delilah wanted to go tomorrow to get one, and, I know we're cutting it close, but we really want a traditional tree this year, and…" He trailed off. "What about you? Are you okay?"

Tony made sure to smile big and say, "Of course I am." _I'm just feeling completely and utterly dead inside. Thanks for asking._ "What's there to not be okay about? Beautiful time of year." He looked around. Maybe he could fantasize again about bashing that little Christmas tree against the desk, back in the bullpen, until all the stupid little baubles lay strewn all over the carpet. Or maybe he could take that Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer snow globe off of Balboa's desk - the one he got from his kid at least ten years ago, that's how long Tony's been staring at that damn thing every fucking Christmas - and hurl it at the NCIS Most Wanted wall while it plays that stupid fucking song over and over and over again. Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer! Had a little shiny-! BAM! _How you like that , motherfuckers? Santa's delayed, kiddos, 'cause he got pulled over for a broken headlight._

"You seem bothered," Tim pressed.

Tony only realized now that he'd been staring into space while fantasizing about a snow globe broken into teeny-tiny bits of- He shrugged. "It's the cold."

Tim didn't seem so sure, but he shrugged and let it go. He continued snapping pictures of the body, and of the blood spatter, and of the placard-numbered, forgotten projectiles littering the scene.

"So whaddaya think, 'bout ten yards from the dead guy to that dropped wallet?" Tony asked.

"Yeah, I'd say so."

Tony nodded and kept on scribbling. "Wallet's empty except for a coupl'a membership cards."

"Yeah," McGee said again. "Maybe a snatch and run that went bad?"

"Bit far from any sort of road or walking path, though," reasoned Tony. "Who gets mugged in the middle of the woods?"

"Seems unlikely."

"Maybe they knew each other. Maybe they met here. Maybe this is only meant to look like a mugging." Tony looked off toward Gibbs, who was speaking with the man who'd mistakenly stumbled upon the body. He looked homeless, and he looked cold. Tony kept staring at them through the heavily falling snow, lost in his own thoughts.

"Hey," Tim broke in. "You sure you're okay?"

"Peachy." Tony's hands were beginning to freeze and stiffen. He was no fan of cold weather, and now he regretted not opting for yet another layer.

Soon, Ducky tottered onto the scene, followed doggedly by his perma-smiley assistant, Jimmy Palmer. They must've gotten lost again, judging by Ducky's harried and hurried expression.

"Actually I was late this morning," Palmer answered the question no one had asked. "Victoria was colicky all night."

"Ah, the joys of fatherhood," Tony began to say, bouncing a bit on the balls of his feet and faking a smile.

Jimmy mused, "I never knew spit-up could be cute until—"

"Mr. Palmer, would you be so kind as to grab the liver probe," Ducky said, drawing them all back gently to the task at hand. "What do we have here, poor boy," the old man tutted and fretted. "Whatever happened to you?"

"Well, as you can probably see," Tony started, "he got himself shot."

Ducky gave him a dark look.

Gibbs joined the group and held up a cell phone in an evidence baggie. "Witness found the petty officer's cell phone."

Tony nodded and kept the briefing short: "Empty wallet over there. Coupl'a spent rounds. No gun yet. Shooter probably took it with him."

"You done lookin' for that gun, DiNozzo?" Gibbs challenged.

Tony stared at him, then said, "No, boss."

Gibbs didn't loosen the tight look he had fixed on DiNozzo.

"Right... looking... boss." Tony grumbled darkly before he went and looked.

* * *

As he searched in a grid-like pattern, he kept getting distracted by the homeless man. Finally, when his lone, fruitless search brought him closer, Tony asked, "What're you doing all the way out here, anyway?"

The man looked up from where he was hunched, arms wrapped tightly around himself. There were some sticks piled up to his right. McBoyScout would probably call it 'kindling,' but all Tony could call it was 'desperation.' The man's face had canyon deep lines and solemnly dignified features and two flinty black eyes. After a protracted moment of silence, he spoke, ignoring Tony's question, "Lookin' for something, kid?"

Tony huffed out a laugh. He hadn't been called "kid" in years, because he was no kid these days. "You didn't happen to see a gun out here, did you?"

He shook his head. "Just that new-fangled telephone I gave to the other guy."

"I figured," Tony said. "Can I have your name?"

The man simply shrugged, as if he couldn't be bothered to say anything more.

"You shouldn't be staying out here," Tony went on. "I could arrest you for camping illegally, you know."

"Are you gonna do that?" he asked.

"No, but I should. For your own good."

"So can I have _your_ name, hotshot?"

Tony flashed his badge and ID. "NCIS Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo," he answered.

"That's a mouthful."

"My middle name is also three syllables. My parents didn't like me much."

That got a smile from the other man. He mused, "Anthony… Saint Anthony. Patron saint of lost people and things. You know that?"

"I had a mean ol' Sicilian aunty. What do you think?" Grinning, Tony added, "But it comes in handy sometimes in this line of work. Finding things."

"Lot of lost people and things to find, Anthony."

"If you say so. Not having much luck now. See you've found some nice sticks there."

The man nodded, then said, "There may come a time in your life, too, when you start losing bits and pieces of yourself, until you have nothing left but your own autonomy. There's something to that, kid. Remember it."

Tony cocked his head at the non-sequitur.

"You look a little lost yourself," the man clarified.

"Autonomy," Tony said, "That's why you're out here camping in the woods in the dead of winter? I don't know, man. There's freedom and then there's foolhardiness."

"There's capability and then there's helplessness," he countered. "It's one thing to live alone with your choices, and another thing to live amongst everyone else's, too."

Tony raised his brows at the philosophical turn of events. "Right," he nudged the conversation back on track. "So, did you notice anything else out of the ordinary here last night? Didn't you hear the gunshots?"

"Oh yeah, but I thought it was the kids that come out here sometimes to night shoot."

"Night shoot?"

"Shooting at night."

"Right." Tony didn't seem so sure about that. The only "shooting at night" he was familiar with usually ended up with someone dead come the morning. Then again… that's exactly what happened here.

Funny that.

"I did see headlights out on that access road," the man added, "but that's not all that unusual either. It's a quiet meeting spot in and around here. I told all that to the other guy."

Tony nodded and looked off toward the others. He saw Palmer struggling doggedly with the gurney and Ducky arguing with him, gesticulating as he sometimes did. "Thanks for the chat. That'll be all, for now."

"If you need anything else, you'll know where to find me, won't you, Anthony."

"If you say so." Tony turned to head back, but then he paused. "Here," he suddenly offered, removing his own coat and then the fleece zip-up under it. He quickly put the coat back on over his white t-shirt. Handing the zip-up to the old man, he said, "Do me a favor and don't freeze to death. Okay?"

The man took it, and after a moment, he smiled and said, "Chuck. You can call me Chuck. God bless you, kid." He reached out and grabbed Tony's hand in an icy grasp. "God bless you. Merry Christmas."

* * *

Tony was half-frozen and still out of luck in the missing murder weapon department by the time he and Tim and Ellie crawled stiffly back into Gibbs' sedan.

"Can you turn the heat on, boss?" Tim asked from the backseat, more for Tony's sake than his own or Ellie's.

Tony had rested his head against the window, and he was already well on his way to shivering himself into a light doze that refused to turn into actual sleep.

Wordlessly, Gibbs complied. He glanced briefly and — although McGee might have imagined it — compassionately at DiNozzo as he did. And just as wordlessly, all four of them headed back to the Navy Yard.

* * *

"I saw what you did back there," Tim mentioned later as he and Tony carried the team's gear from the parking garage to the elevator.

Tony, still groggy from the half-nap in the car, wasn't following. "Wha's that, McGee?"

"The jacket you gave the homeless guy." They both scooted into the elevator.

Tony said nothing and watched the doors slowly close.

"It was… touching," McGee ventured.

"Tim, let's not get carried away. He looked cold, I was already cold, it was _damn cold_ and it was pissing down snow. So I gave him a jacket. Big deal."

They stood quietly together.

But then Tony added, "Although afterward, I did feel my Grinch heart grow three sizes. Could've been indigestion, though." He winked.

McGee laughed and caught himself grinning stupidly at Tony for longer than was necessary. Tony didn't notice, because they were both grinning stupidly by the time they reached their floor.

* * *

"I need to share something with you," Ellie said to the side of Abby's head.

Abby was busily running a set of prints she'd lifted from the wallet and one of the shell casings. It seemed like she would not be easily deterred from her task.

At first, Ellie thought she hadn't heard, so she repeated, "I need to share—"

"So what is it?" Abby asked as she moved from one area of the lab to the other.

Ellie kept her spot on the stool, swiveling it slightly to keep her eyes on Abby. "It's about Tony. He told me something… I'm not sure why he told me. I think he just wanted to tell _someone_."

Suddenly, Abby was all ears. "He and Zoe are in a tough spot, aren't they?" she asked with a sad frown. "She's not coming for Christmas, is she."

Ellie's eyes widened. "How'd you know?"

"Oh hun. I know my Tony. He's been all hang-dog for the entire day, and yesterday, too. I knew there was something…" Abby now watched her equipment with much less enthusiasm. Then she remembered something. "Oh no," she said quietly.

"What's wrong? Something go wrong with the tests?"

"No, not that," Abby waved her hand. "It's just… Tony told me about the whole plan they had for the holiday. He looked really excited about it. I mean, _really_ excited. I haven't seen him that happy and that excited since…"

"Since?"

Abby sighed. "Since Ziva."

 _Right_ , Ellie thought. _Ziva_. "Won't his dad be around at least?"

"No. He's headed for Monaco."

"Oh. Hm," Ellie made a face. She didn't know everything about the DiNozzo saga, and she didn't feel up for a crash course in it, either, or even the Cliff Notes version. Instead she commented, mostly as a joke and hopefully to lighten the mood, "Tony did mention something about becoming a monk. Can you see that?" She laughed.

But Abby only looked at her with wide eyes. She immediately reached out to grab Ellie tightly by her biceps. " _Bishop_." If Tony was beginning to consider the monastic life, then things must be getting desperate.

"What?"

"This is a Tony DiNozzo Emotional Crisis Level 5 Alert." She paused. "Well, maybe a Level 4. Or a Level 3.75."

Ellie stared at her dumbly. "Huh?"

"Total emotional meltdown is imminent," Abby spoke slowly. "We cannot let this happen. The team would not survive it."

Ellie nodded, just as slowly.

"You see, Tony is like—" Abby was speaking with her hands now. They flailed around with her words. "—He's like the soul of the team, right? Gibbs is the heart. McGee is the brain. And you're…"

"I'm?" Ellie prompted.

"Well, I haven't figured you out yet," Abby admitted ruefully. "Not since…"

"Ziva," Ellie answered for her again.

Abby nodded. "We can't lose our soul."

"I know I haven't been a part of this team for long… and I don't know Tony as well as you all do, but he's probably one of the toughest people I know," Ellie said. "For what it's worth. I think he'll be okay."

"He's been through a lot," Abby said. One of the machines dinged, and she turned toward it. "We need to plan."

"Plan what?"

"Something for Tony."

Ellie opened her mouth, but Abby had already returned her focus to her work.

"Got it!" Abby shouted. "A match on the prints from the wallet."

"Who?" Ellie leaned forward.

"Former Navy SEAL Charles Petrone."


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE.**

At his desk, Tony chewed on a massive deli bagel as he pored over the photographs and layout sketches of the crime scene. When he felt hot breath tickle the hairs on his neck, he startled, swung around, and almost dropped the bagel. He scowled when he found it was Abby lurking behind him.

Her eyes busily scrutinized one sketch in particular.

"You normally make more noise than that, Abs," Tony said darkly. He took another bite of the bagel and chewed with his mouth open. Some cream cheese stuck stubbornly to his lip.

"Your lines are angry," she declared, still looking at the paper.

Tony screwed up his face in a look of profound confusion as he said, "My what are what?"

"Your lines." She leaned into his space with her arm and pointed at the pencil marks in question. "They're all dark and forceful. Angry." Her eyes narrowed as she focused on his face. "They indicate a deeply tumultuous emotional state."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Abs," Tony said, "but please, we're busy up here trying to solve a murder, so—"

"Then maybe you'll be interested to know that I pulled a couple prints off that wallet. And I got a hit. Next up are the shell casings…"

"I'd be more interested to know who they match." He shoved the rest of the bagel in his mouth and kept chewing, loudly. He licked his fingers.

"I'm sure you would, but first you have to tell me if you're okay." She crossed her arms and waited. "So go on. Start talking, mister."

Tony, in return, also crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, simply giving Abby "the look" while he finished chewing and swallowing.

"I'm waiting," Abby said.

"Everybody is asking if I'm okay, and it's making me worried," Tony said. "I'm beginning to think I have some sort of terminal illness I'm not aware of."

"You do have an illness. It's called terminal obstinance."

"Oooh, that sounds serious." Tony smirked. "Is there a cure?"

"No," she said. "It's terminal."

"Well, that would make sense... So _nothing_ I can do about it?" He allowed himself a flirtatious grin.

Abby met his flirtatious grin and raised the stakes: "Maybe. What would you suggest?"

"I'd suggest you all tell me what you got," Gibbs deadpanned as he suddenly rounded the corner. He stood in front of the plasma in expectation, watching it and waiting for it to show him something.

"You're no fun," Abby pouted. "I'm helping Tony through a difficult time."

"The only difficult time DiNozzo's gonna have," Gibbs threatened, "is pulling my boot out of his ass if he doesn't get up off of it."

At that, Tony immediately sprang to his feet and dug around McGee's desk for the clicker. "Uh… I think we're missing Bishop and McGee." He looked briefly at Abby. "Boss."

"Where's Bishop?" Gibbs asked Abby.

"The restroom?" she supplied.

"McGee?"

"Uh…" Abby guessed. "The restroom?"

That was when Tony's phone dinged loudly, alerting him of a new text message. _**Call me when you get a chance. We need to talk about this.**_

Without thinking, Tony grabbed it and tapped in reply: _**Now you want to talk?**_

The answer came quickly. _**I want to talk, not fight. Call me.**_

"You done?" Gibbs asked. He pinned Tony with a glare that promised the imminent boot up his ass plus nothing else good, and Tony almost felt the need to shrink away from it.

Tony slipped the phone into his pocket while Abby looked on in worry. "Yeah, I'm done."

McGee, followed closely by Ellie, picked the perfect moment to show up and announce, "Sorry, Boss. I was helping Ellie with something down in the evidence garage. Did we miss something?" He looked from Gibbs to Abby to Tony. When he caught Tony's eye, he motioned to his own face as subtly as he could.

Tony took the hint and wiped quickly at his lip with a hand. He scowled at Abby while mouthing, " _Why didn't you tell me?_ "

"Details. C'mon people," Gibbs prompted. "What do we got?"

McGee jumped in first, and soon the plasma lit up with the picture of a young man with an earnest, serious face. "Our victim is Petty Officer First Class Joshua Carver, 32 years old and based out of Norfolk. He's married to a Rebecca Carver, and they have a home in Brookland, here in the District. They have a six month old baby girl named Lily. According to Ducky, cause of death was a gunshot wound to the chest, but he also sustained gunshot wounds to the lower abdomen and right thigh."

McGee clicked, and the plasma now showed a photograph of Joshua Carver, Rebecca, and baby Lily, as well as another young man with shaggy brown hair and a reticent smile.

"Who's the other guy?" Gibbs asked.

"That's Sunny Carver, 25 years old and Joshua's younger brother," answered Ellie. "He reportedly lives on and off at the Carver residence. He works as a gas station clerk."

"Criminal record?"

McGee clicked forward.

"Somewhat lengthy, but nothing extremely noteworthy or violent," Ellie said. "DUI, paraphernalia, possession. Nothing for the past three years. He apparently went through a drug and alcohol program and cleaned up his act."

Gibbs nodded. "Joshua Carver have any problems at work? Any enemies?"

Tony answered, "The XO we got ahold of verifies that he was currently on leave time for the holidays, but his ship was set to leave port on the fifth of January for a six month tour in the South Pacific. XO mentioned no problems whatsoever. Carver was on point, a hard-worker, on the fast track to become Chief Petty Officer. Great commendations all around."

The plasma switched to pictures of Carver dead on the cold ground of the crime scene and in autopsy.

"Everybody loved this guy, Boss," Tony finished.

Gibbs glanced his way. "Somebody didn't."

McGee added, "One of his former crewmates did mention that Joshua was often worried about his younger brother. He even took extended leave three years ago to help him out a bit."

"And Abby," Tony said, looking back toward where she waited in surprising silence, "said she got a hit on some prints from the wallet."

She stepped toward McGee's computer and did some typing and clicking. Yet another new picture popped up on the plasma, this time of a completely different man.

Tony cocked his head at it. There was something awfully familiar about those features.

"Lieutenant Commander Charles Petrone, former Navy SEAL," Abby said. "And I mean, very former. He was part of a platoon that performed several ops in South Vietnam. Honorable discharge and several positive commendations. His present whereabouts are unknown."

"Hey, now I know!" Tony said. "That's Chuck."

"Who's Chuck?" Ellie asked.

But Gibbs, too, was experiencing a bit of _deja-vu_.

"The homeless guy out at Rock Creek Park," Tony answered.

"You think he took all of the stuff out of the wallet?" Tim asked.

"There were a lot of prints, Gibbs," Abby said. "But I mean, that doesn't tell us much."

Gibbs said gruffly, "Tells me he lied to both me and DiNozzo." Immediately, he looked to Tony, who still studied the photo. "You're big buddies with him now. Go back out there, ask him some more questions."

"No disrespect, Boss," Tony ventured to say, "but the brother is a much more viable lead. Let me follow-up on that."

Everybody went quiet.

Gibbs turned to stand directly in front of Tony, pinning him with yet another lethal glare. To Tony's credit, he didn't back down or break eye contact. Several tense moments passed, during which even Abby held her breath.

In a carefully controlled tone, Tony added, "Clean or not, Sunny Carver might still have ties to his former or not-so-former life. A homeless guy rifling through a dropped wallet is not exactly a smoking gun."

Gibbs looked his Senior Field Agent up and down and then up again, his hard stare ultimately landing on Tony's calm face and steady hazel eyes. Finally, Gibbs' face broke into a rare smile as he nodded and said, "I agree." He moved away, relieving the pressure.

Tony let out a breath.

"But you're still goin' to talk to him, Tony," Gibbs said. "Ellie, Tim — you two are on the brother. Be thorough. Let's get to the bottom of this."

* * *

He stood in the small alcove by the stairway while he argued back and forth with Zoe through the cell phone. With his backpack slung over a shoulder and car keys in hand, he was ready to go back to the park to track down Chuck. But first he had to smooth over this lingering issue, or at least attempt it.

"We're not fighting; we're discussing. And right now I'm discussing—" Tony whispered somewhat heatedly into the phone.

He paused.

"I'm going to lose the deposit. Maybe if you'd've told me."

He paused again.

"I know. I know. It is a great opportunity. I understand."

And again.

"Okay. I gotta go."

And yet again.

"The usual… Uh-hm… Love you, too. Buh-bye."

Tony ended the call and stood there for a bit, staring at both the wall and at nothing. Finally, he moved out into the hall, where he ran into something that was solid and warm and looked a lot like Jimmy Palmer.

"Hey, Tony," Jimmy said, as if he'd been expecting all along for this to happen. "When are we doing the 'It's a Wonderful Life' movie night this year up in MTAC? Breena and I want to know so we can find a sitter for Victoria, and-"

"Not doing it this year," Tony said darkly. "Christmas is cancelled."

"What? Why?" Jimmy frowned. His glasses slid comically to the end of his nose. He pushed them back up with a finger. "We were looking forward to it…"

"Well, if you wanna do it with Abby and the others, that's fine. But I won't be there." Tony repositioned the backpack on his shoulder and started walking, signaling an abrupt end to the conversation.

But Jimmy kept on following him, his mouth gaped open.

Tony stopped and then slowly turned around to stare hard at the scarecrow version of Palmer. "Can I help you with something?"

"No, I, uh—" Jimmy seemed confused by Tony's frigid mood. Tony was usually warm and friendly with him, and over the years they'd become unlikely confidantes.

Enunciating his words carefully, Tony explained, "Unless that corpse downstairs suffered a Christmas miracle and is now alive and talking and can tell us who shot him to death and why, I'd really prefer if you went back downstairs. Thank you. Now I gotta go."

* * *

In her lab, Abby was absorbed in her analysis of the ignition points of various gun powder samples for another team's case. She hadn't seemed to notice Ellie step inside and take her customary perch on the stool until she turned around and saw her there. She jumped and clutched her chest.

"Oh come on," Ellie said. "You knew I was here."

"You're right." Abby turned to grin at her, eyes covered by a pair of red rimmed safety glasses. "Where's Tim?"

"Speaking with Mrs. Carver in a conference room. She's devastated."

Abby's grin melted into a deep frown. "I don't envy that task."

"No." Ellie watched Abby finish writing something in a notebook. "So… What do you have so far?"

Abby's smile returned full force and then some. She said, "I thought you'd never ask." She removed the safety glasses, spun around, and reached for a manila folder tucked between two fat binders. She opened it and shoved it under Ellie's nose. "Everybody's tasks are listed here."

" _Operation Eggnog_?" Ellie read with a raised brow.

"Every good op needs a good codename. And _Operation Let's Cheer Tony Up_ seems way too specific. So what do you think?" Abby wrung her hands as she waited.

Ellie's eyes continued to scan the page. "You're going to lure him into MTAC for a movie night?"

"We do it every year. Well, I mean the movie night, not luring people into MTAC. That's sort of, like, impossible, what with the retina scanner thingy. You kind of have to have a reason to be there, so it's not like you could just—"

"Abby…" Ellie verbally nudged her.

"So yeah, Tony hasn't said anything about the movie night yet. And then Jimmy came to me earlier babbling about Christmas being cancelled and how Tony nearly bit his head off and was downright awful about it. Our Tony isn't like that, Ellie! He's an ooey-gooey marshmallow with a solid steel core, all sweet and sticky and tough at the same time... He's _our marshmallow_."

Abby paused to breathe, letting that fully sink in.

Ellie seemed afraid to venture further into the marshmallow analogy.

"It's a tradition," Abby went on. "I won't let Zoe ruin our tradition; she's already ruining _our_ Tony. So what do you think about the second part? Do you think we can get it done in time?"

Ellie closed the folder and handed it back to Abby. "I think we can certainly try."

* * *

"He's a wonderful man."

Rebecca Carver kept interjecting this same sentence over and over again after her responses.

" _He's a wonderful man_."

And McGee, more patient than many, gently eased into the questions with considerable tact. The answers he managed to get from her were hard-earned. "Do you have any idea why your husband would be in Rock Creek Park at that time of night?"

"No," she choked out. "None at all." She was a pretty woman, and she had tear streaks down her face, and she wore a sweatshirt now that hung off her body. "No idea. He's a wonderful man."

"What about his brother?"

"Sunny?" Rebecca asked rhetorically.

"Has he been around at all?" Tim asked.

She shook her head slowly. "I haven't seen him in a couple days. Josh was getting worried, although I think he was calling him… or somebody. I don't know; I'm not one to pry. Josh and Sunny are close. Very close. Are we almost done? I have Lily with a sitter."

Afterward, in the hallway, Tim leaned against the wall and rubbed at his chin and bottom lip in worried thought.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR.**

"Told ya you'd find me again," Chuck remarked as soon as he saw Tony trudge into the park's deserted picnicking area. The man sat on a park bench that looked over a half-frozen pond.

During summer this area might have been bustling with families and birthday parties and screaming kids, but now it was quiet and a little bit lonely. Wet snow clung to the trees and blanketed the grass and wood chips.

Slowly and with a tired groan, Tony sat beside the old man and held his backpack in his lap. He watched a pair of red-winged black birds dance from cattail to cattail. "I happen to have more questions for you, Lieutenant Commander Charles Petrone," he said, dropping the name and hopefully catching the man off-guard.

"Anthony," Chuck said, no surprise and no concern to be found. "My patron saint."

"We found your prints on the wallet," Tony jumped right to the point. "You told us you didn't find anything at the scene but Petty Officer Carver's cell phone. Yet you touched the wallet. I need to know why."

Chuck nodded as he studied the pond.

"Did you take anything from the wallet?"

"If I say 'no,' you won't believe me, but if I say 'yes,' it'll satisfy all of your preconceptions."

"Try me," Tony said.

"Oh kid… You've got all this self-righteousness in you and nowhere to put it."

"No," denied Tony, ire building in his tone, "I'm here for the truth. That's all."

Again, Chuck only stared at the pond. He said, "Yes, I looked through it."

"Why?"

There was a heavy pause, and then finally: "When the war ended and when we were brought back home, we never quite fit back into the lives we had before we left. Some of us did. Lots of us... imperfectly. The rest of us not at all."

"What's this got to do with anything?" Tony asked, impatient. Just answer the question."

"It's got everything to do with it. Do you understand sacrifice, kid?"

"I do."

Chuck nodded. "So you understand that when you give up something, you might never see that something again. But you're human, so you keep lookin' for it, even when you know you shouldn't."

Tony studied the other man's face, so worn and tired — yet also proud. He did understand. Intimately. Perhaps not in the permanently life-altering way Chuck Petrone did, but it was a start. He rephrased his earlier question: "Did you find anything in that wallet?"

And Chuck answered right away, "No. Somebody had already beat me to it."

* * *

It was a decent drive out to the Brookland neighborhood and the Carver residence to check things out, so McGee used the opportunity to pump information out of Ellie.

"So what's going on?" he pressed. "You and Abby have been sneaking around together and whispering for the entire day."

"Nothing," Ellie lied, and it wasn't particularly convincing. She covered it by looking out the window at the gray slushy snow built-up on the easement.

Tim repeated, "What's going on?"

"We're planning something," she relented.

"Planning what?"

"Something."

"Something?" Tim asked. "Can I know about this something?"

"Yes, _something_ ," she answered, vaguely.

" _Something for_?"

"For Tony," Ellie said, finally. "He's going to be alone this year, and—"

"Wait a minute. He told me all about his plans with Zoe. They were going to a cabin up north a bit. Just the two of them. He's been going on about it for months, it seems. What happened?"

Ellie didn't answer right away.

"Wait, did he tell you something he didn't tell me?" McGee bitched.

"He really just wanted my perspective... really. And it kind of came out of nowhere."

"And then you told Abby?" he asked.

She confirmed, "And then I told Abby."

Tim just frowned and kept staring ahead at the road as he drove.

Awkwardly, Ellie nodded and did the same. She wasn't about to get in the middle of that one: the weird quasi love story that was McGee and DiNozzo. Not _love_ love — at least she didn't think it was like that, from her limited experience with them. But just love. Those two seemed to share everything and nothing with each other at the same time. It was a damn near impossible thing, all of it.

They sat there, in complete silence, except for the drone of "Feliz Navidad" turned low on the car's radio.

Tim drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. Ellie flipped through some of her case notes.

But Tim couldn't help himself. He had to know. "So what happened then?"

"She's staying in Seattle for Christmas."

"Why?"

"Tony also said they offered her a job there."

"Really?" Tim looked scandalized. "Is she going to take it? Is he going to move out there with her?" He frowned, and the look on his face would have been funny if it wasn't so sad.

"Look, Tim, maybe you should ask him yourself. It doesn't feel right gossiping about it behind his back. I think he's wounded enough as it is," she said.

Ellie could practically feel Tim's scowl.

So she went on, "Maybe he'd like to talk to you about it, but he doesn't know how to bring it up. Maybe he's embarrassed about it. I don't know. I try to stay out of his head. It seems like a scary place."

"It is, sometimes," said Tim, finally. "So what are you planning?"

"Abby's supposed to tell you about it."

He shook his head and pulled the car into the driveway of a small town-home decorated with icicle lights and a blow-up Olaf the Snowman in the front yard. As soon as he put it in park and turned off the engine, they grabbed their notepads and reached for the door handles.

That was when the driver's side mirror suddenly exploded into a thousand brilliantly sparkling pieces.

The remains of it hung loosely - like some stunted, broken wing - swinging back and forth. Tim turned to stare at Ellie, both of their eyes wide, and they only had a split moment to duck down before the onslaught began. Staccato reports of rifle fire accompanied the shattering glass.

"Where's that coming from?" Ellie cried out, grabbing her gun first, and her cell phone second to call for back-up.

"Upstairs window. I see him," Tim said. He leaned briefly out of the shattered car window, calling out, " _Federal agents-!_ " He saw a man dressed in black aim the rifle again, so Tim squeezed off a few .45 rounds, aiming at the window in question. The dark shape ducked out of the way. Then Tim huddled back down and checked the chamber.

But the rifle fire didn't cease.

Ellie popped up and mimicked Tim's move. She yelled out and clutched her arm which had gotten caught on part of the broken window.

"You okay?" Tim leaned out of the window again and shot once, twice, three times, until his gun clicked empty. "Shit."

"I'm fine. Just a flesh wound." She fumbled the cell phone in her hands and accidentally dropped it.

"A movie quote? Really? You need to stop spending so much time with Tony, I guess!" he accused. "He's rubbing off on you."

"He's not! Why are you so jealous?"

Both of them kept arguing while returning fire.

"I'm not jealous!"

 _Pop, pop._

"Yeah, you are!"

 _Pop, pop._

"I'm not!"

Gibbs barked distantly from Ellie's dropped cell phone, which was now stuck between the seats. And soon, police sirens began to bray from down the street, getting closer and closer on this usually peaceful and quiet residential street.

"You think we got him?" Tim then asked, noticing the sudden lull of return fire.

But then: _Pow, pow, pow._ Whoever it was, he wasn't done yet.

Broken glass flew up and hit Tim near his eye, and he ducked down again on reflex. "We're sitting ducks here," he panted. He managed to fire the Charger's engine up, although it made a strange and distressing sound, and he knocked it into reverse before burning rubber right on out of the driveway. Ellie hung out the window once more and shot again. This time, she saw the shooter in the window collapse. "I got him!" she exclaimed in disbelief.

They jolted to a stop with a crash, and it took McGee a bit to realize he ought to take his foot off the gas. Smoke billowed from the shot-up engine and rolled up over the windshield.

Breathing hard, Ellie looked behind them. "Uh, Tim?"

There was a Metro police cruiser now stuck to their back bumper.

McGee cringed as he wiped some blood from his face. "Oops."

* * *

"What do you think, Boss?" Tony asked as they stood in the upstairs bedroom of the town-home.

After the distressing phone call from Bishop, Gibbs had rounded up Tony — who'd just gotten back from Rock Creek Park — and together they drove as fast as they could to the Carver house. Tony had even urged Gibbs to drive faster.

But now that they were here, and both McGee and Bishop were found to be safe, Tony didn't know whether to laugh at or be impressed by the unfortunate series of events that occurred here. "This guy sure isn't Sunny Carver."

The dead gunman lay slumped against the open window. The blood had long stopped pumping from the wound on his neck, and the pool of it on the carpet had already begun to congeal.

Gibbs gazed around the ruined room. The walls were painted pink, with a border covered in galloping cartoon ponies. Actually, _everything_ was pink. Even the carpeting and the drapes. There was a crib in the corner and a pink pony mobile above it. Luckily, there'd been no baby.

"One brother shot dead in the woods," Tony went on, "and the other gone AWOL. Now this guy dressed in tac gear and armed with an assault rifle, waiting at their home for… who? Us?" He snapped another picture with the SLR camera and shivered a bit, though it didn't have anything to do with the open window. The whole scene creeped him out. The dead guy. The baby's room. The seeming innocuousness of the neighborhood.

He looked out of the window. Both Ellie and McGee sat on the back bumper of an ambulance getting stitched up. Somehow, Tim caught his eye, and he waved. Tony fumbled with the camera as he returned a wave from the window.

"You hear that?" Gibbs asked.

Tony turned away from the window. "Pardon?"

"That noise. Coming from down the hall."

"We cleared the house," Tony said. He put a hand on the butt of his gun, and headed for the door.

Gibbs followed, and silently, the two of them crept down the hallway. The noise got steadily louder. It sounded like cries from a baby.

"You checked that closet, DiNozzo?"

"Yeah, of course," Tony replied. "Pretty sure I woulda noticed a baby in a closet, Boss."

"Yeah?" Gibbs swung open the closet door, gun out and ready, covering Tony as he stepped into the closet without further instruction and dug through the mess of sweaters and jackets.

The cries got louder. The closet was bigger than either of them anticipated.

"Uh, Boss," Tony said, voice muffled. "There's a baby in this closet."

"Well, get her out!" Gibbs said, re-holstering his weapon.

"Hang on, hang on. Just gotta figure out these strappy things. They got her in a car seat or something."

"You need help figuring out a car seat, DiNozzo?"

"I got it. I got it." Tony backed out of the closet now with a baby held awkwardly in his arms. She looked no worse for wear, dressed in a pink onesie accented with yellow ducklings. She was actually quiet now as she stared out into the sudden light with a wide expression of baby wonder.

"Must be Lily," Tony said. And the baby looked at him, and smiled and burbled.

He wasn't sure if it was a strange kind of innate paternal instinct or something else learned, but Tony held the child close to his chest. Little baby hands clung to the NCIS patch of his bullet-resistant vest. He and Gibbs stared at one another. "Weird" had just gotten a little more weird.

* * *

Gibbs made phone calls while Tony wandered the crime scene, apparently strangely absorbed in this new thing known as "baby," and also apparently designated as child minder until they figured out what to do with the tiny human.

Ducky and Jimmy had already passed them by in the hallway - on their way to assess the body, no doubt - a gurney in tow. The old man paused, eyes twinkling as he pinched the baby's fat cheeks. Jimmy just smiled and, despite Tony's earlier attitude back at NCIS, said, " _Wow_ , Tony, maybe I should call you up next time we need a sitter."

"Oh Jimmy," Tony replied with a blithe little grin, "You could never afford me."

He met up with McGee outside, who had four neatly done sutures below his eye. Tony grabbed his chin, turning Tim's head in order to get a better look at them. "I'm pretty sure this'll scar, McDemolitionDerby. Did Ellie really get the guy while the car was moving?"

"Lucky shot," Tim murmured.

Tony whistled in respect. "Where'd she go, anyway?"

"She sliced her arm pretty good. She rode the ambulance to the ER," Tim answered as he slapped Tony's hand away and scowled. Then he caught sight of the baby wrapped in a blanket and nestled against Tony's chest. He gave the baby a strange look, asking, "Did an old girlfriend of yours stop by and leave you a surprise?"

" _Nooo_ ," Tony answered, smiling as the baby reached out and grabbed onto his nose. "We found her upstairs."

The color immediately drained from McGee's face. "Please don't tell me she was in that room."

"She wasn't," Tony assured him. "Somebody left her in a closet down the hall."

"A closet?"

"We've got a petty officer shot dead in the woods, and we've got this other guy involved in a shootout in their home in the heart of suburbia—" The baby grabbed for Tony's eyelid now. "—And a baby left in a closet."

"Rebecca Carver told me she'd left her with a sitter," McGee said, as he reached a hand out and let the baby grip onto his finger instead of Tony's face. He couldn't help but grin.

"So where's the sitter?"

"That's the million dollar question, isn't it."

Suddenly, Gibbs was rushing toward them. He looked first at McGee, perhaps to ensure the young man was okay, then he paused to gaze at Tony with the baby. "Looks good on you, DiNozzo."

"What, this baby shaped growth on my chest?" Tony shot back. "Thanks for noticing."

"Baby sitting duty is over. Rebecca's on her way," Gibbs said. "And Abs got a hit on the prints she pulled from the shell casings."

"Who?" Tim quickly asked.

Gibbs answered: "Sunny Carver.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE.**

"I've got something for you," Abby said from the cell phone. Gibbs put her on speaker, having finally found the button to make that happen. Both McGee and Tony stood nearby so they could listen in.

"Yeah, what is it, Abs?" Gibbs asked.

"The phone belonging to the number you found in Joshua Carver's text message history is turned off. Last ping was a couple days ago at their home in Brookland. Definitely belongs to Sunny, though, as I verified that through Sprint Wireless."

Gibbs said impatiently, "Thought you had something."

"I do," Abby's tinny voice went on from the cell phone's speakers. "Takes time to get to the good stuff, and there's lots of that. I finally got word from Verizon, and the number that called our mystery shooter at 2AM - the morning Joshua Carver was killed - is a number leased to TracFone."

"Burn phone," Tony said from beside Gibbs. "Probably activated under a fake name."

"You're partially right, Tony – Get this," Abby said. "The phone was purchased recently from a Citgo station on New York Avenue NE. Are you guys still in Brookland?"

"What's the street number?" Tony asked.

"Uh, 2420."

"That's south of Langdon, isn't it, Boss? Kinda by the Arboretum? Not far from here."

"That's right," Abby confirmed. "And guess who's currently employed by that Citgo?"

"Sunny Carver," McGee said aloud what everybody else had been thinking.

Then Tony asked, "Did TracFone ping it for us?"

"Yeah," said Abby. "Last ping was at 16:36 in Rock Creek Park.

"We're about to be on our way," Gibbs answered tersely. "By the way, did you get an ID on that mystery shooter?"

"Your wish is my command. His name is Raymond Rawls, and he's _big time_ , Gibbs. In the heroine trade, at least. And get this, his sister's name is Ramona Rawls, the Carver's babysitter. Big co-inky-dink, right?"

"Don't believe in coincidences, Abs." Gibbs gestured at Tony and McGee to hurry up and get in the car.

"Great work, Abs," he said, peeling away from the curb as soon as all of the car's doors slammed shut.

As soon as Gibbs hung up, Tony said, "Do we really think Sunny killed his own brother?"

"Rebecca said that Sunny adores his older brother." McGee leaned forward as far as he could from where he was strapped down in the back seat. "She also said she's never known him to hurt a fly, despite his past."

"Well, he obviously knows how to load a mag," said Tony, darkly. "His print was found on one of the cartridges.

"Not hard to load a mag, DiNozzo," Gibbs countered. "But firing the gun and killing somebody... That's different."

* * *

While they drove deeper into the park, Abby advised that the cell phone now pinged — roughly — in an area south of where they found the body of Joshua Carver. Tony had a feeling he knew exactly where she was talking about.

"There's a pond up here," Tony said. "Picnic tables. Grills. A pavilion. A large jungle gym. This is where I met up with Chuck earlier."

Gibbs braked the car hard, nearly sending McGee's already throbbing face into the back of Tony's seat.

"You see that?" Gibbs asked.

Squinting through the gloaming, Tony saw a man who had to be Sunny standing near the park bench by the pond. He had a gun in his hand.

They all got out of the car, but DiNozzo –- by virtue of the vehicle's position - found himself in the lead, duty weapon drawn and aimed, as he approached slowly. "Federal agents!" he called out. "Put the gun down. Hands up. There's nowhere for you to go."

But Sunny did not comply, although perhaps he never heard in the first place. He turned and watched the three agents as if in some sort of daze. "You found me," Sunny called out at them. "Took you long enough."

"We know who you are, Sunny Carver," Gibbs spoke up from a few yards behind Tony. "We know what happened to your brother."

"Is he dead?" Sunny then asked. His voice shook. He looked drawn and emaciated, but the hold he had on the gun looked steady enough. "My brother?"

"He's dead," Gibbs answered. "You were there."

"I was," Sunny's voice hitched. "I didn't know what to do. Ray… Ray said everything would be taken care of. As long as he got paid off. Josh had the money."

Carefully, McGee edged along on the left-hand periphery, until Sunny all but screamed, "Stop! Stop, or I'll shoot." His nostrils flared and he lifted the gun slowly at Tony. His aim was shaky at best.

McGee stopped immediately. His eyes looked to Tony, waiting for some kind of instruction.

"I never wanted this," Sunny went on, voice tight and agitated. "It wasn't supposed to go down like this. Ray was supposed to take the money Josh brought. Josh was… Josh was getting me out of trouble again."

"We understand," Tony said. "We know you've cleaned up."

" _You don't understand anything!_ " the young man blew up once more. "You're just saying that! _You want to kill me!_ "

"No one wants to kill you, Sunny," Tony reasoned. "Don't be stupid. I don't want to kill anyone. I'm here to help. I'm here to protect you, if you need it."

Sunny shook his head wildly. His shaggy brown hair flopped into his eyes. He demanded, "Drop your weapons."

"We can't do that," said Tony.

"Then have those two drop them."

Tony hesitated, before looking briefly back at Gibbs and McGee. "Well, you heard the guy."

With slow, deliberate movements, both of the men placed their guns on the ground and gently kicked them out of their own reach.

"Good! Now hands up." Sunny jabbed the gun forward a couple times into thin air to emphasize his point.

They put their hands up, although Gibbs seemed more than perturbed.

"See," Tony then said, "We wanna work with you. Now how about we both put down our weapons together? Then we can chat about things, okay?"

Surprisingly enough, he obeyed, partially. Sunny lowered the gun, so now at least it wasn't pointing at Tony's face. But then he had it pointed at his own head. He looked more determined than ever.

Tony frowned and kept his aim steady and calm. "No, Sunny. You don't want to do that today."

A cold breeze blew in off the pond, and the thick clouds overhead in the rapidly darkening sky began to spit out snow. It swirled around them and got caught in their hair and on their jackets and in the yellow beams from the headlights of Gibbs' car. Tony's gloveless hands had already started to stiffen from the below freezing windchill.

"I killed Josh," Sunny admitted. The wind almost carried his voice away.

"You didn't pull the trigger."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I know you didn't. Raymond Rawls did it. And you wanna know why, Sunny?"

Sunny kept the gun pressed hard into his own temple. Then wind almost took away his reply. "Because of me."

"No. Because he's a killer, and that's what he does. He kills people. Good people. You're not a killer, Sunny. I can see that. It's written all over your face."

"I might as well have pulled the trigger," Sunny hiccupped. "It's over. There's nothing left. I ruined Becca's life... And Lily's..."

"Josh saw something in you, Sunny," Tony changed tracks slightly. "He saw something that he wanted to save. Don't prove him wrong."

"He's dead. I killed him. I loved him." He was sobbing now. "I loved him, and I killed him."

"Sunny," Tony soothed. "Hey, listen to me."

The young man's breath hitched as the sobs kept coming. His grip on the gun became increasingly more unsteady.

Tony risked stepping forward another yard or two. "Are you listening?"

"I'm listening."

"We're here to help you. Raymond killed Josh. Not you. I'll say it twenty more times if it'd matter. Let us help you."

Sunny rambled on, "I convinced Josh to come out here. I begged him. Told him I was in trouble again. Owed money to Ray again." The tears dripped from his chin. "I didn't have the money."

"Right, because you wanted out of that life," Tony said. "For good. There was always that one thing holding you back, even after you got clean."

"My fault…" Sunny whispered. "All of it. I don't deserve to live." His hand twitched.

"C'mon, kid."

For a moment, Tony thought he was actually going to put the gun down. But then suddenly and erratically, he swung it in McGee's direction, and something about the movement instantly triggered a well-worn instinct in Tony. Before the other man could even think of squeezing off a single shot, Tony put five in his chest. One after the other in quick succession, and with no second-thoughts.

Sunny's body jerked and lurched before folding awkwardly in place, where it stiffened convulsively before settling in the mud.

The sudden gunfire had rousted a flock of blackbirds roosting in a nearby oak tree. They circled, flapping wildly, before settling in a tree further away.

"Shit," Tony said.

McGee watched dumbly from where he stood. He'd seen the gun point his way. It had happened so quickly. Too quickly. He'd barely managed to close his eyes and flinch, planning to drop and roll and grab the back-up he'd started carrying around his ankle. Planning to do _something_.

Gibbs pushed ahead and checked the body, nudging the gun out of Sunny's loose grip.

Without much emotion and possessing a familiarity with the weapon that seemed like second nature, Tony popped the magazine out and removed the remaining cartridge from the chamber by pulling back on the slide.

"Well, that didn't pan out," he deadpanned, quoting the immortal words of True Grit's Rooster Cogburn. He pushed his unloaded gun into Tim's hands. "You know the drill."

Tony went to the car, blowing on his hands and rubbing them together.

McGee went to follow but Gibbs caught his arm. "Give him a minute."

"He did the right thing," Tim said quietly. "Carver was going to shoot."

"Give him a minute," Gibbs simply repeated.

While Gibbs stepped away, cell phone to his ear, Tim watched from a distance as Tony went around the back of the car and leaned heavily against it, looking up at the black sky and the swirling snow.

 _Merry and bright_ , Tim thought, as he looked away from Tony and back toward Sunny's body spread out by the edge of that pond. _Merry and bright_.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: This is the last chapter, folks!** I want to thank all of you who've been reading, following, and favorite-ing. Special thanks to reviewers: **Deluded Visions** , **LAG0802** , **gibblette** , **VG LittleBear** , **ytteb** , **bjq** , **megamom2** , **DS2010** , **therocketscientist** , **nightchild78** , and the anonymous reviewers, including **Fred** and **the frog.**

* * *

 **CHAPTER SIX.**

"So why was the baby in the closet?" Ellie asked the impromptu crowd from her hospital bed.

Apparently, the "flesh wound" had been a bit more serious than she'd initially thought. It took a trauma doctor to stitch her up, thirty sutures in all. They put her on IV fluids and antibiotics for the afternoon, and the attending said she'd be discharged by Christmas morning. Sooner if Jake vouched for her early release.

But for now, on Christmas Eve, her coworkers stood around her bed and filled her in on what had happened in her absence.

McGee led the discussion, with several assists from Abby, Jimmy, and Ducky. Hanging near the doorway, Gibbs had already offered his support by squeezing her foot and giving her a rare compliment: "Good shooting, Bishop." And she had beamed even while her cheeks flared pink.

"Well, the babysitter," Tim explained, "was Raymond Rawls' sister. She's the one who let Raymond into the house, and she's the one who hid the baby in the closet—"

"Who's Raymond Rawls?" Ellie asked.

"He's the guy who was shooting at you from the Carver's house," Abby said. "And he's the guy who killed Petty Officer Carver in cold blood out in that park."

"So why would she let him in and hide the baby?"

"Raymond was a scary dude. She probably would do anything he asked," Abby nodded. "That was a good shoot."

Ellie admitted, "None of this is really making sense. So how does Sunny Carver fit into it all?"

Tim frowned. "He owed Rawls money from several bad bets. He was clean, but wanted completely out of the life he used to live."

"And Joshua was willing to help him out," Ellie finished.

"Right. But instead of simply going through with the money exchange at the park," Abby said, "Rawls murdered Joshua, took the money, and made it look like a mugging gone bad. Maybe he wanted to teach Sunny a lesson. Or maybe he wanted Sunny to know he'd never be free."

"Not exactly a happy ending," Ellie sighed, then frowned, looked around, failing to see one face in particular.

"Where's Tony?" she asked.

McGee smiled. "He's at the airport."

"He's going away?"

"No," Tim answered. "He's picking up Zoe."

"But I thought she wasn't—"

"Change of heart maybe?" Tim shrugged.

"Yeah," Abby narrowed her eyes. "And she's got some explaining to do."

"You're just upset we had to cancel the movie night up in MTAC," Tim said.

"Okay," Ducky chimed in. "Perhaps we should let the young woman rest until Jake comes to spring her loose."

"Great idea, Duck," Gibbs pushed away from the wall.

"Wait!" Ellie said. "Did Tony get our letters yet, at least?" She looked at Abby. "Did everybody finish theirs in time?"

Abby smiled wide and looked at Gibbs. "Someone's got it covered."

* * *

A knock on the door roused Tony from his light sleep on the couch. He lazily pulled himself up and peered past the blinds at the swirling snow outside. Then he stumbled toward the door, opening it a crack and letting in the phosphorescent hallway lighting.

"Boss?" Tony screwed his face up in confusion. He blinked hard to clear away the lingering sleepiness. He could count on one hand the amount of times Gibbs had showed up at his place unannounced - even if he had no fingers.

"So you gonna let me in?" Gibbs commented. He had a large wrapped box in his arms, and he shifted his weight a few times to help ease the load.

"Yeah, of course, hang on." Tony shut the door and undid the chain, before opening it up again to let him in. He watched Gibbs march across the living room and set the gift down on the coffee table. National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation played on the big flat-screen TV, the volume turned down low.

"That's an awfully large package you have there," Tony commented wryly, eyeing the skull and crossbones plus Santa hat wrapping paper.

Gibbs shot him a look of warning, before he asked, "Where's Zoe?"

"Sleeping in the bedroom. She's been working non-stop, caught the earliest flight she could."

"Last minute change of heart?"

"I have no idea."

"We going to wake her?"

"Right now, she couldn't hear a dump truck driving through a nitroglycerin plant," Tony quoted with a smirk. "She won't be awake again 'til 8AM at the earliest. We're—" He scratched at the back of his head, "We're going to figure some stuff out. Together. I'll admit, it's a little daunting. Communication… I've been told it's healthy."

"She going to take that job in Seattle?"

"How'd you know about that?" Tony huffed in disbelief. "That's one of the things we're figuring out. I do know, though, that my family is here and not anywhere else. I mean… you know." He sat on top of the bedding that was spread out over the couch, put his chin in his hands and stared at the movie he'd seen probably a hundred times before.

Gibbs sat beside him and said, "Abs told me you put Charles Petrone up at the EconoLodge for a bit."

"Yeah, well, half the battle was getting him to say 'yes'," Tony shrugged, eyes still glued to the screen.

They sat in silence for longer than was comfortable.

Finally, Gibbs said, "You're feeling bad about Sunny."

Tony looked toward him and said, "Doesn't matter what I feel. It was the right choice. He could've taken a shot at Tim, and... I'd _never_ let that happen." He looked again at the wrapped box on his coffee table. "Not if I could stop it."

Gibbs tapped the box. "How about you open this?"

Tony chuckled. "So… We're doing a gift exchange this year? I didn't get the memo."

"It's a surprise," Gibbs deadpanned. "Blame Abby and the others."

Tony hesitated.

Which prompted Gibbs to encourage, "Go on."

He tore at the wrapping paper, making quick work of it, until — "Holy shit," Tony exclaimed. "Did you make this?"

Gibbs nodded. "Been workin' on it a little over a year."

"A whole year?" Tony stared at the gift in front of him. "For me?" It was a wooden box — a gun box, in specific — because calling it just a wooden box would be an understatement. The thing was an absolute work of art. Tony reached out to touch the intricate carving on its rich red surface. He studied the elaborate design and used his fingers to trace the words carved there.

It read: _Serve and protect._

Tony swallowed thickly. "This is… uh…" He felt like there was something suddenly stuck in his eye. "This is really nice, Boss."

"The wood's mahogany. It's not perfect, but I enjoyed working on it. More detailed than a boat. Good time pass."

"I…" Tony continued to stare at it. "I don't even know what to say."

"Open it up," Gibbs suggested.

The box opened smoothly on its metal hinges. A spicy waft of wood smell hit him. On the inside of the box's lid, everyone had signed their names in black sharpie. His eyes landed on a bundle of envelopes. "What's this?"

"Abby's idea," Gibbs shrugged as he watched Tony flip through the envelopes. He opened the one labeled "McGee."

"These are thank you cards," Tony observed. "Thank you for what?"

"You tell me, DiNozzo."

He put the cards down, and stood up in an attempt to regain his emotional equilibrium. "You're in luck, Boss. I've got something for you, too. Granted, I didn't hand make it… Or spend a year with it..." Tony disappeared into the kitchen before returning with a bottle of amber colored liquid wrapped in a rumpled red bow. "I was waiting to show up unannounced at your place with this — as is tradition."

Gibbs chuckled as he grabbed the bottle and took a look at the label. His eyes widened. "Jesus, Tony. This is a $200 bottle of bourbon."

Tony shrugged. "What can I say?" He winked.

Looking sideways at him, Gibbs asked, "Got any jars in this nice place of yours?"

"No, but I have actual tumblers." Tony disappeared into the kitchen again, this time returning with a pair of glasses. "Not a rusty nail in sight."

Gibbs cracked the bottle open and poured them a couple fingers.

"To happier endings," Tony remarked.

Tapping Tony's glass with his own, Gibbs couldn't agree more.

They could drink to that.

* * *

And if Tony felt like he had several somethings stuck in his eyes while reading through the stack of thank you notes written by his coworkers and friends…

Well, that was "need to know."

 **THE END.**


End file.
